


Greg, it's Greg Lestrade

by Melethril



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Greg Lestrade is one of the best BBC Sherlock characters, I love him, M/M, Not TFP compliant, Or Greg&Sherlock friendship, Sherlock does know Greg's first name, There is not enough love for Greg Lestrade in the fandom, he deserves all the love, his goodness, his loyalty, his patience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:46:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9813809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melethril/pseuds/Melethril
Summary: “Greg, my name is Greg. As in Gregory Lestrade. As in ‘the Watchful’, though I got grey hair from trying to watch you. And you, who can remember the most complex chemical compounds with more than five syllables, cannot even bother to remember my name. It’s a nickname, an abbreviation. Greg. Just get my name right for once in you goddamned life, Sherlock!”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like this one :)

Greg was tired. He was weary, knackered, just utterly and completely exhausted. They had had too many cases that had to be handled by a limited number of people (he thanked God for Sally. She had been a rock in this troubled time). If not for the help of one consulting detective, he would have never closed them all. He knew that. Of course, he did. God help him, he needed that enigma of a man. Even without actually being there, his consults had made Greg and his team better investigators. In fact, Sherlock had not called them bumbling idiots in over six months, which was a personal record in over ten years of knowing each other. But then, Sherlock had changed. The events of the past two years (no, four, it would do no good to pretend that those two years Sherlock had spent away from London had not had any impact on the man; especially given the fact that those years had initiated or at least accelerated the change) had changed him. He was still arrogant (but then, the man was a genius, so that was justified), but he was mellower, more willing to approach a case with empathy rather than cold reason while still remaining as logical and scientific as ever. He had become a better man, more human… Sometimes, there was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes though never in his words or actions that made Greg wonder if it had been worth it. He knew John thought the same. There were moments when John looked utterly miserable, usually when Sherlock stopped mid-sentence to make sure what he said was not ‘a bit not good’, or when his voice became more hesitant and he looked at John or Greg for guidance.

John was not solely responsible for that change in Sherlock, but he was the main cause and they knew it. Greg had made it utterly clear to the doctor that if he as much as touched Sherlock in what some might consider rough, he would arrest him. John would let him, had even asked him to after their figurative Facebook status had switched from ‘it’s complicated’ to ‘in a relationship’; one year of anger management therapy and grief counselling had done wonders, and the duo was as strong as it had ever been – especially in the recent four weeks, but erasing the trauma John had unwittingly caused from a mind such as Sherlock’s was impossible. They were healing still, and Greg would make sure past transgressions would not happen again.

All that being said, Greg was in his office, desperately trying to stay awake for long enough so he could finish that last bit of paperwork still on his desk.

He startled when the door banged open to reveal no other than Sherlock Holmes.

“Gideon, I am leaving. I will see you tomorrow!”

Greg was just a bit wounded up from the particularly vicious display of human depravity he had witnessed this week, and he was tired, and Sherlock still could not remember his first name after more than a decade… So, naturally, this was the moment he lost it.

“Greg, my name is Greg. As in Gregory Lestrade. As in ‘the Watchful’, though I got grey hair from trying to watch you. And you, who can remember the most complex chemical compounds with more than five syllables, cannot even bother to remember my name. It’s a nickname, an abbreviation. Greg. Just get my name right for once in you goddamned life, Sherlock!”

The consulting detective’s eyes were wide in the face of such a rant. His mouth slightly open, the man looked stunned into silence. Greg immediately felt bad. This was Sherlock. He had just bemoaned the fact how his friend and somewhat adopted little brother had lost some of the levity in his manner.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, I’m tired. I will see you tomorrow.”

The tall man with the black curls simply stood there, silent.

“Sherlock…” Greg began, hoping to mend the fences.

“Your name is Gregory Simon Lestrade. You were born on June 30 in 1963. You married at twenty-one and were always faithful, though not for lack of trying from third parties. Your wife has had a total of five affairs throughout your marriage, but frequently blamed your job as the cause of your marriage problems. I have been responsible for at least ten rows you had with her, six of which due to cases, the others due to my drug addiction. You divorced in 2012, and have not dated since, less out of mourning the loss of your marriage but because you have had no time, which again, was partially caused by me. However, you detest living alone. You desperately want children, but you believe that you are getting too old for them. Rosie has taken away some of that need, mostly because you wish to be her godfather in my stead given my unexpected promotion from godfather to parent. You would love to date Molly, but you feel that you are too old for her – which, by the way, is ridiculous. If you had any observational skills you would know that ever since you have started babysitting together every Saturday afternoon, she has developed a strong interest in you appreciating your loyalty and decency; both traits I highly value as well.”

The entire speech had been delivered at remarkable speed and with utter conviction as if he delivered a deduction at a crime scene. His eyes never waivered from Greg’s face, he looked serious and a bit stricken still at the detective inspector’s outburst.

“I assure you that I know your name as well as quite a few things your friends may not be aware of. I had assumed that this was merely a joke we both shared from the time we first met when you did not know my name. I apologise for inadvertently hurting you.”

_‘The man was obviously murdered,’ the young man with curly hair who was likely as high as a kite shouted. His eyes, though clearly not sober, were sharp and blazing betraying the addict’s intellect, ‘How can you not see this, you imbeciles? He has finally scored a success at work, is obviously pleased with himself, which led to him finding the courage to ask out a close friend after hesitating to do so for more than six months – successfully asked out, I might add. He would not kill himself; he had no reason to. But then, you with your unhappy marriage and an average success rate as a recently promoted detective inspector could not possibly understand this.’ The tall man swayed as he sneered at Greg, having trouble standing straight._

_‘Get off my crime scene,’ Greg growled._

_‘The murder was committed by his colleague, a tall man in his early thirties. It was not planned; you would not have found the body in this location otherwise. Therefore, it was a crime of passion, likely because the victim’s success meant his colleague’s failure. Nevertheless, they decided to celebrate in a group together where the murderer’s person was ridiculed. The murderer was angry but decided to have a calm discussion about this, however the victim would hear none of it further sneering at the murderer, which led to the murder itself,’ the man continued as two of Greg’s sergeants led him away._

_‘Stop!’ Greg ordered his men. His mind was swirling. He had no idea how the stranger knew all this, but he knew better than to dismiss it as the raving of a drugged mind; that mind was far too sharp, even not entirely sober. ‘What’s your name?’_

_‘Sh’lock Holmes,’ slurred the man who was obviously feeling the effect of the poison in his system._

_‘Alright, Shlock, come with me. I have some food in my office, and I think you could do with some nutrition and sleep. I am detective inspector Gregory Lestrade.’_

_‘If you insist, Gilbert.’_

_‘It’s Greg… Lestrade!’ Greg protested, a bit exasperated but also amused._

Greg shook his head to dispel the memory, but he was shaken.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock,” he whispered. He had been unaware that this was meant as an inside joke; he had an inside joke with Sherlock Holmes!

“Clearly, I should be the one to apologise. I was unaware that you were truly bothered by this. I figured this was part of how we greeted each other, so – while I do have a room in my mind palace storing all information that concerns you – I trained my mind to replace your first name with any name starting with ‘G’; another one each time. I will now train it not to do so anymore, of course,’ said the man stiffly and coldly if his eyes had not screamed with confusion and pain.

“No!” protested Greg, aghast. “No, that’s not necessary. Just… keep doing that thing you do. Now I know. This… it’s ours; I’m honoured to share this with you. I was just being testy, but I am sorry.”

“There is no need, Garner,” replied Sherlock with a tentative smirk. “I see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Sherlock,” Greg smiled. Just as the door was about to close he told the consulting detective to wait for a moment. “You do know you are one of my closest friends, right? I don’t expect anyone to know me as well as you do.”

Sherlock blinked, surprised (and Greg wondered if that was how he looked when John had asked him to be his best man), but then he nodded. Before he left, he said, “Given how the relationship between me and John has recently changed – evolved as foolishly romantic would claim – I think it is fair to say that you are my best friend. You were definitely the first one I ever had.”

A moment later, the bastard was gone, leaving Greg gobsmacked.

And he felt a little less tired.

Particularly when his phone dinged ten minutes later with an attachment that would help him complete the report an hour earlier than planned.

He had to write to Molly about Saturday.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a comment made on tumblr (I am sorry, I don't remember your name, I am just lurking) that they wanted to read a story where Greg is angry that Sherlock does not remember his name and Sherlock deduces the hell out of him, showing how much he knows and cares (this is paraphrased; I read it last night while half-way down to sleep).
> 
> If you know who this was, thank that person for me, and tell them that I decided to take on that challenge.
> 
> On a side-note: Huge kudos to the writers of BBC Sherlock: Getting those deductions down is hard; and I only stated facts in Sherlock-speed, not actual deductions…Respect, you guys!


End file.
